


Thursby Manor

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1960s, Bikinis, Hawaii, Hive Mind, Hypnotism, Mystery, Other, Partying, Private Investigators, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 07:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18773716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: An erotic hypnosis mystery.  Samantha Smith, Private Eye, is alarmed when young women in Honolulu start disappearing.  Her investigation uncovers an underground brainwashing cult… with its sights set on her!





	1. They All Said I Should Go to the “Girl Detective.”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AWMBH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWMBH/gifts).



> The following is a commissioned work. Story was designed by my patron, AWMBH, while the text is by me.

**_Honolulu, April 1964_ **

 

The office door said:

**_Samantha Smith_ **

**_Private Investigator_ **

**_Discretion and Confidentiality Assured_ **

The office’s namesake sighed, wondering if she shouldn’t have gone with bigger letters.  At first glance, it was easy to read and then miss her name, which more-or-less belied the point of the sign in the first place.  But it had cost ten whole dollars to hire the lettering man, and it was too late to change things now.

Sam scowled, fishing her keys from her purse.  Perhaps if business picked up, she could afford to repaint the sign.  Or move to a better office.

The current office was little more than a cubby hole, a rented room on the second floor of Honolulu’s _Ka Lehulehu_ Building.  There was with barely enough space inside for a small desk, typewriter, filing cabinet, and three plain chairs.  Ancient blinds hung over the windows, threatening to fall apart at any moment.  A fly lazily wandered about the ceiling.

Depressed, Sam flicked on the light and glanced through the mail in the slot.  Bills.  Bills, bills, bills.  All bills.  Bills that were getting sterner every month.  Sam sighed again.

Wait, there was also an envelope, with only “ ** _Samantha Smith_** ” scrawled on it.  The handwriting was terrible.

The young investigator moved to her desk chair, pulling out her hair ribbon.  Thick, red curls tumbled down over her graceful neck and narrow shoulders.  Sam’s mother had been Irish, and each of the Smith children had inherited her thick, bushy red hair.  The men at the LAPD had laughed at her long red hair, Sam remembered.

That had not been so long ago.  Upon graduating from high school, Sam had tried pushing her way into the Los Angeles Police Academy.  Her father and brothers were all cops, after all, and Sam had no interest in becoming a teacher or a nurse.  But the LAPD was not ready for women officers.  Private investigations were the only route to detective work.

Disgusted, Sam had packed her bags and moved to Hawai’i, the newest state in the Union.  There, she had distant relations who welcomed her with open arms.  More importantly, in Hawai’i, a woman like Sam could scratch out a living as a PI, as long as she worked hard and kept out of the way of the all-male police.

Sam set the mail and her case notebook on the desk, lit a cigarette, then reclined in her chair.  She crossed her long legs, allowing her skirt to billow around her knee.  Sam was an exceptional beauty, and in Hawai’i, her pale skin, high cheeks, bright green eyes, and of course that bouncy red hair made her really stand out.  Sam’s sleek yet curvy body was still getting used to the islands’ oppressive humidity, and the young detective found she appreciated dressing in light, loose fabrics.  This displayed her shapely figure more than she liked, but it helped with the climate.

The redhead exhaled a cloud of smoke.  With mild curiosity, she tore open the personally-addressed envelope, and discovered a single, handwritten letter inside.  It was a struggle to read the horrible penmanship, but Sam was fairly certain the letter said:

**_Dear Detective Samantha Smith,_ **

**_I am Halia Kalama, school student I know you cause my dad is a policeman I think you are very very groovy and would like to work for you is this OK?  I work very cheap and am very smart._ **

**_Love, -Halia_ **

Sam crumbled the letter in disgust.  No doubt a member of the Honolulu police force was playing a cruel prank on her.  And snidely reminding her that a woman’s work was raising children, not law enforcement.

“Ms. Smith?”  There was a soft rap at the door.

The young detective looked up.  Standing in the doorframe was a woman, perhaps in her late forties.  Clearly a mainlander, and probably from the US East Coast, the lady wore a conservative bodice and full skirt, with pearls, white gloves, and flat-heeled shoes.  Her hair was neatly pinned up, and tucked under a matching pillbox hat.  A tiny purse was clutched in her hands.

Immediately, Sam stood.  “Ma’am,” she said crisply, in way of introduction.  “May I help you?”

The stranger entered, casting a disapproving eye all about the little office.  She came from some money, Sam could see, plus embraced the traditional view that women should not be in the workforce.  The young detective forced a pleasant smile.

“Hmmgh, yes,” the woman said, frowning.  Was that a Boston accent?

“Please,” Sam said curtly, indicating a chair.  She moved to close the door.

Still broadcasting her displeasure, the woman tenderly sat.  “I’m afraid I need your help, Ms. Smith,” she clucked, and then obviously looked at Sam’s ring finger.  “You are not married…?”

“No,” replied Sam, sitting opposite.

“Hmmgh,” the woman frowned, even more unhappily.  “Well, I suppose you’ll have to do.”

Sam suppressed a tart retort.  “What can I do for you, Mrs.…?”

“Harrison,” the woman supplied.  “Wilma Harrison.  I assume all I tell you is confidential, Ms. Smith?”

“Absolutely,” assured Sam.  The detective set her cigarette in the ashtray, then scooped up her case notebook.  That book contained every fact of every case Sam touched.  She always began a meeting with a new client with such notes.

“Very well,” Mrs. Harrison sighed, looking down at her gloved fingers.  “So, I’ll tell you, Ms. Smith, you are not my first choice for patronage.”

 _How flattering,_ Sam thought crassly, already writing in the casebook.

“But none of the other investigators would talk with me,” confessed the older woman.  “They all said I should go to the ‘Girl Detective.’  Which I assume is you?”

Still writing, Sam nodded.  She was the only female investigator on the islands.

Mrs. Harrison let out a long, trembling sigh.  “My husband,” she said painfully.  “He…”

There was a pause.

“He’s having an affair?” Sam supplied quietly.

The ends of Mrs. Harrison’s mouth dipped downward.  She nodded, tersely.  “I believe so,” she admitted.

The tale came out slowly.  Mr. Harrison (first name Theodore, aged 52) had moved to Hawai’i for the summer, bringing the missus along.  Harrison’s company smelled a real estate bonanza in the US’s newest state, and Harrison was under orders to buy up cheap properties for hotel development.  Mrs. Harrison had come along for the extended vacation.

At first, Theodore seemed uninterested in the Hawai’ian paradise.  He carried out his duties without enthusiasm and grumbled endlessly about missing baseball season back on the mainland.  But then – overnight – his interests changed.  Suddenly he was working late into the evenings, concerned about losing weight, shopping for upscale clothes, fretting over his bald spot.  And he seemed to regard his wife as a pesky houseguest in their rented bungalow.

“I see,” Sam murmured.

Mrs. Harrison had no evidence of her husband’s infidelity, but the signs were all there.  A woman’s intuition was never wrong about these things.

“But I need proof,” the older woman said firmly.  “Theodore is a careful man, and he’s taken pains to hide everything from me.  I need you to… what do you call it…”

“Shadow him?” asked Sam.

Mrs. Harrison sniffed.  “How vulgar,” she muttered.

“My fee is fifty dollars a day, plus a hundred dollar bonus if I produce hard evidence,” Sam said plainly, closing her casebook.  “I assume you’d like photographs?”

* * * * * * *

Sam was supposed to meet her cousin Mackenzie for dinner that night, but the Harrison case demanded immediate attention.  Mrs. Harrison paid up front in cash, and Sam realized the older woman was impatient for results.  So the detective phoned her cousin and left a message with Mackenzie’s roommate.

Theodore Harrison worked in a rented office, right off Bishop Square in the business district.  As a tall and lanky mainlander, he was fairly easy to spot and even easier to tail.  Sam absently followed the man as he crossed Alakea St. and popped into a jeweler’s shop, and then into the _Kūkā_ Cabins Rental Office.  He spent about fifteen minutes in both establishments.  He also made a point to check his reflection in the storefront windows.  The mainlander apparently thought he looked quite handsome; Sam didn’t see it.

By the time Mr. Harrison had returned to his car, Sam was certain; this man was cheating on his wife.  No married fifty-two year old had such a spring in his step nor such an interest in preparing a romantic getaway, not after twenty years of neglecting his spouse.

Now it was simply a matter of snapping a picture of Mr. Harrison and his mistress together.

Sam doubled back and slipped into the _Kūkā_ rental office.  “Where are your locations, again?” she asked the clerk.

* * * * * * *

It turned out that _Kūkā_ Cabins rented from two different locations.  One was up north, outside of Liliha Kapalama; the other was way, way out west, past Kuliouou-Kalani Iki.  There was no way of knowing where Mr. Harrison had rented, not without tipping off the suspicious clerk.  So Sam would have to do a bit more footwork.

It was a Tuesday, so it seemed unlikely Harrison would wine and dine his lady friend that evening.  Sam gambled she had a few days before the tryst happened.  It also seemed unlikely that Harrison would pick the cabins further away, if only because the _Kūkā_ Cabins brochure made those look less romantic.  But Sam had to be sure.

So the detective hopped into her rust-splattered BMW 600 and coaxed the coughing automobile out onto the Kalaniana'ole Highway.  As she drove, she could see the Pacific sparkling over Wailupe Beach.  The sun was already beginning to set.

With a twang of regret, Sam thought of Mackenzie, her cousin.  Out of all the extended family she had on the islands, Sam was closest to Mackenzie, who was just the sweetest girl imaginable.  How many times had the detective canceled on their dinner plans?  Mackenzie was a patient woman, but sooner or later, Sam would push their bond too far.

Well, Sam certainly never intended to neglect her favorite cousin.  There was always another case to wrap up, another fee to chase, another bill to pay off.  The work never let up.

The BMW shuddered, belching another cloud of ugly smoke.  Sam sighed.

* * * * * * *

The moment Sam saw the Kuliouou-Kalani Iki cabins, she knew her trip had been unnecessary.  The cabins themselves were almost falling apart, with no charm to them whatsoever.  Even an insensitive chump like Theodore Harrison wouldn’t try to romance his girlfriend out here.

The young detective scowled, cursing her luck.  So much for a productive evening.  Well, at least she knew where Harrison could be spotted with his mistress; the **_other_** cabins, the Liliha Kapalama cabins were the spot.

* * * * * * *

On the drive back to the city, the BMW suddenly kicked and Sam’s senses went into overdrive.  Something was wrong.  The detective pulled off the highway in a hurry.

There was a hideous smell reeking from her engine, a mixture of burnt rubber and chemicals.  Cursing, Sam opened the hood, and was greeted with a cloud of white smoke for her trouble.

The radiator hose had torn open.  It could be mended with some electrician’s tape, and fortunately Sam had some in her glove compartment.  But she’d need to wait at least a half an hour before the engine was cool enough to touch.  Just her luck.

Seething, the detective lit a cigarette and glared out at the dark ocean, visible to the south.  Perhaps coming out to Honolulu was a mistake.  Perhaps the endless grind of chasing cases wasn’t worth it.  Perhaps she should give in to reality and pack in the Samantha Smith Detective Agency once and for all.  What was the point of it all if she overworked herself and never had the time to meet her cousin for one lousy dinner?

Over the wind, Sam could faintly hear a Beach Boys song.  She turned, curious.

High above her on the hill, there was a manor house, glowing with outdoor lights.  The detective could barely detect the laughter of women in the air.  It sounded like quite a party.

Sam frowned.  There was something familiar about that house.  Was it an historical landmark or something…?  She didn’t think so.

As the wheels in her head turned, Sam noted that the hillside was covered in the discarded remains of a small, white flower.  Huh.  The tiny blooms were triangle-shaped, and had such a unique fragrance.  An odd mixture of pumpkin and lilac.  Sam’s nose wrinkled.

Then up in the manor house, there was the sound of a big splash, then women cheering and more laughter.  The party-goers were having the time of their lives.

Sam scowled darkly.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to a really great party.  Not since becoming an investigator, certainly.

* * * * * * *

The next morning, the redheaded detective arrived at her office a little before eight AM, which was quite early for her.  She had to snatch some extra film for her camera; then she needed to be near the Honolulu piers before the SS _Akaibara_ docked.  She was cutting it close.

As Sam reached her office door, a voice cried out:  “Jeepers, its you!”

The detective whirled about, startled.  There, opposite the corridor, was a teenage girl.  An absolutely beautiful Hawai’ian girl, with sparkling brown eyes, long, black hair, and a smile as bright as the sun.  The young woman radiated with delight.  She was dressed in a simple blue minidress and black pumps; a bookbag was clutched against her chest.

Sam shrank back, clutching her casebook to her chest, as the girl rushed toward her.  “Its you!” the girl gushed again and again.  “Its you!  Oh, gosh!”

“Can… I help you?” Sam asked warily.

“Its me!” the teenager proudly declared.  When Sam stared at her blankly, the girl added, “You know… Halia?  Halia Kalama?  I’m here for the job!”

Annoyed and worried about the time, Sam merely snapped, “What job?”

“I wrote you,” the teenager said, her smile melting.  “I dropped my letter in your box just yesterday.  I’m the school student, you know, the one who can help you?  That’s me.”

In a flash, Sam recalled the poorly-written letter in yesterday’s mail.  “That was you?” she said disdainfully.  “I thought a fifth grader wrote that.”

“No,” Halia replied, looking determined.  “That was me.”  There was a pause.  “So… can I work with you, then?”

Sam wondered if this was an elaborate prank.  “You’re a school student, right?” she asked, returning to the search for her keys.

“Yeah,” Halia replied.

“So why aren’t you in school?”

“School,” huffed the teenager.  “School is for nobodies.  You know what they teach us girls?  Typing and homemaking and knitting.  And baby-rearing.  Nuts to that!  I want to be a detective.  Like you!”

Sam unlocked her door.  “Look, kid,” she grunted.  “I’m not hiring.  Get me?”

If Halia was disappointed, she hid it well.  “Aw, just give me a chance!  Okay?”

Sam snatched her camera satchel bag, then had to stop the schoolgirl from bounding into the office.

“I’ll work extra hard for you,” promised Halia.  “I promise!”

Sam cringed as she glanced at her watch.  “Kid, I’m not hiring,” she said firmly.  “Expenses are tight.  Look, I gotta-“

“That’s okay,” Halia said quickly.  “I’ll work for free, at least until we get more cases.  Please, Sam, I wanna be a detective!”

“ ** _NO!_** ” cried the investigator, pulling the office door shut.  The lock clicked.  Then Sam charged down the hall before Halia could protest any more.

* * * * * * *

But the next morning, Halia was there again, waiting at Sam’s office like an eager puppy.  And then the morning after that.  And again the following morning.  The spunky teen simply wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Alright!” Sam finally exclaimed in exasperation.  “If I task you with something, **_then_** will you let me enter my office without all this pestering?”

“You got it, chief!” said Halia, beaming.

The detective rubbed her temple, wishing she had an aspirin.  “Theodore Harrison,” she said wearily.  “He’s a banker or something at Baker Colonial Reality.  The company’s in Boston.  I need you to pull city records, check him out.  Can you do that?”

“Absolutely!” Halia promised, nearly popping the buttons from her blouse as her chest swelled up in pride.  “Count on me, chief!”

Sam watched the teen scamper off, half-relived, half-amused.

Of course, Halia was on a fool’s errand.  Baker Colonial was a private company; Theodore Harrison was a private citizen.  What would there be in City Records on either of them?  Nothing.

So when the teenager returned – if she slunk back at all – she’d arrive completely empty-handed.  At that point, Sam would point out that Halia clearly wasn’t meant for sleuthing work, she was better off in school, but thank you all the same.

After scanning her mail and lighting a cigarette, Sam called her messaging service.  _Please let there be new clients,_ she thought darkly as the service girl looked up her file.  _Please let them all be rich._

“ _I have one message for you, Ms. Smith,_ ” the girl said.  “ _Its from a… Mackenzie Kono._ ”

**_Mackenzie._ **

Sam groaned inwardly.  No doubt her cousin was fed up with Sam’s excuses for canceling dinner.

The detective dialed Mackenzie’s number immediately.  Mackenzie worked as a hula dancer and instructor at the _Hotel Hotel Maikaʻi_ Resort, one of Honolulu’s more exclusive vacation getaways.  Young ladies employed there were required to live in the dorms, if only so that their chastity could be monitored by the frumpy-looking chaperones.

After a little prodding, Sam convinced one of those chaperones to put Mackenzie on the phone.

“Mack,” the detective said, sorrow in her voice.  “Listen, I’m so sorry about dinner.  Work has been overwhelming.  But I swear-“

“ _Oh, that’s okay,_ ” Mackenzie interrupted.  The younger girl sounded alarmed, but not angry.  “ _Listen, I know you’re so busy.  I see that.  I need to talk to you about something else._ ”

Sam paused, her cigarette momentarily forgotten.  “Oh?  What about?”

“ _I need detective advice,_ ” said Mackenzie.  “ _Um, I can’t afford to hire you, so I need to know how you might solve a mystery.  A real mystery!_ ”

A flash of annoyance rippled through Sam.  She didn’t have enough on her shoulders without her cousin playing games?  “Mack…”

“ _Its my two friends,_ ” pressed Mackenzie.  “ _Malia and Kailani.  They’re acting weird._ ”

“Your whole generation is acting weird,” drawled Sam.  Sam and Mackenzie were only seven years apart in age.  But growing up, the two girls had liked to pretend that Sam was the wizened elder.  Sometimes Sam felt it was true.

“ _Stop it,_ ” retorted the hula dancer.

Sam closed her eyes.  “Sorry,” she allowed.  “So… acting weird how?”

Mackenzie sounded fretful.  “ _I… I can’t explain it.  Malia and Kailani, they are completely normal most of the time…  But then, in the evenings, they suddenly get this weird look in their eyes.  I ask them if anything’s the matter, and you know what they say?”_

Sam drew on her cigarette.  “What?”

“ _They tell me, ‘I have a party to go to.’  And then they vanish!  For the whole night!_ ”

“Okay,” Sam allowed.  “So… maybe they have a party to go to?”

“ _Almost every evening?_ ” Mackenzie pressed.  “ _No girl is_ **that** _popular.  And then the really weird thing is, in the morning, they don’t remember going anywhere._ ”

The detective frowned.  “What do you mean… they don’t remember?”

“ _When I confront them, they honestly recall they were in their beds all night.  They refuse to believe they went anywhere.  But I’ve checked their beds!  They’re sneaking out!_ ”

Sometimes the simplest explanation is the best one.  Sam said, “So your friends are liars.”

“ _No,_ ” insisted Mackenzie.  “ _Something’s up.  I’m worried.  My two best friends have never done anything like this before!  Its like they turned into Pod People or something._ ”

Sam’s headache wasn’t going away.  “I… don’t know what to tell you, Mack,” she said simply.  “Sometimes people… they just do bizarre things.”

“ _If I hired you,_ ” demanded Mackenzie, “ _how would you solve this case?_ ”

That was an easy question.  “Shadow them,” Sam replied.  “Things usually become obvious after that.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.  Sam knew her cousin was thinking furiously.

“Hey,” the detective said, suddenly alarmed for reasons she couldn’t place.  “Mack, you aren’t about to do anything foolish, are you?”

“ _No, no,_ ” Mackenzie said, a little too quickly.  “ _No, of course not._ ”  Her tone brightened.  “ _Listen, I’m probably just being silly.  Is dinner possible tonight?_ ”

Sam’s mind whirled through her schedule.  Tonight was Friday.  She had a hunch that Harrison would try to steal away with his mistress for an evening rendezvous.

“How about a late supper?” Sam offered lamely.  “I have to work this evening.”

* * * * * * *


	2. Is This Your First Time?

Theodore Harrison left his office right on time and immediately left downtown, driving north.  He was undoubtably heading toward the Liliha Kapalama cabins.  Perfect!  Sam smiled grimly, as she followed him up the Lunalilo Freeway.

Wasting little time, Harrison drove to Cabin Number Seven, and secluded himself.  Sam parked outside and waited in her car, the camera at the ready.  Luckily a streetlight illuminated the cabin’s door perfectly.  All she had to do was wait.

After fifteen minutes, the room service trolley came by, delivering champagne, long-stemmed strawberries, and a vase of tall roses.  Harrison accepted them greedily, but refused to tip the poor bellhop.

And then… time ticked by.

* * * * * * *

After an hour, the cabin door opened, and Harrison poked his head outside, clearly irritated.  Sam watched him carefully.  The businessman looked out into the street, checked his watch, then withdrew.

A half an hour later, this ritual repeated itself.  And then again, twenty minutes after that.

Sam was growing anxious.  The sun had set long ago, and she was tired of leafing through her casebook.  Worse, she needed a bathroom.

When yet another thirty minutes ticked by, Sam couldn’t stand it.  Knowing she was risking everything, she threw down her notes, and made a dash for the outhouse, just beyond the cabin.  Thankfully, it was reasonably clean.

On the walk back to the car, Cabin Seven’s door popped open.  Sam flinched, but it was too late.  Harrison was staring directly at her.

In the PI business, the first order of business is to **_never_** let the subject see your face.  A sloppy investigator can contaminate the very event they are trying to witness.  And worse, the target might remember their face, which can have disastrous consequences in court. 

“You!” Harrison demanded, pointing at Sam.

It was the detective’s first look at her subject up close.  Theodore Harrison was tall and pale, even for a man from Boston.  He had an oddly-proportioned frame, with a skinny chest, yet bulging gut, stick-like legs, yet big, knobby knees which peaked out from under his shorts.  Although he was not a heavy man, Harrison had three chins, making his pudgy face and upturned nose look fairly pig-like.

Luckily, Sam had dressed in a plain white blouse, tan slacks, and low heels.  In the dim light, she looked like a _Kūkā_ Cabins employee.

“Come ’ere,” Harrison demanded, and a small black-and-white photograph appeared in his hands.  “You, have you seen this girl?  Name’s Noelani?”

Sam, trying not to make eye contact, studied the photo.  It was of a lovely native woman, probably in her early twenties.  The girl had thick, round lips, sculpted cheekbones, wavy black hair, and a complexion that a beauty queen would have killed for.  Sam was struck by the gorgeous woman’s eyes; even in the still photograph, the woman’s gaze was mesmerizing.  She smiled sweetly at the camera.

“Er, no, sir,” Sam mumbled.

Harrison let out a disgusted snort.  “If you see her, you send her straight here, understand?” he barked, then slammed the door before Sam could reply.

Well, if nothing else, at least Sam had a name and face for the mistress.  That was something.

* * * * * * *

But Noelani never arrived for her evening tryst.  At ten-thirty, Harrison stormed out of Cabin Seven, dramatically throwing the strawberries and roses into the trash.  He angrily drove off, guzzling the champagne as he went.

Sam was depressed.  No photo of the illicit couple meant that Mrs. Harrison had every right to refuse to pay Sam’s bill.  It seemed that this Noelani had dumped her older boyfriend without telling him, which certainly meant this case was lost.  Just Sam’s luck.

Well, there was an outside chance Mackenzie was still available for a late, late dinner.  She would be dancing until eleven o’clock, and then perhaps then Sam and her cousin could grab a late bite at the _Maikaʻi_ bar.

* * * * * * *

The hula show was just wrapping up when Sam reached the _Hotel Hotel_ _Maikaʻi_ ’s Luau Patio, right by the pool.  Pampered, well-fed guests from the mainland applauded as the young dancers took their bows, then scampered offstage.

Sam frowned as she scanned the beautiful young faces.  Mackenzie wasn’t there.  Where was that girl?

Moving quickly, the detective intercepted Alanna, one of the plumper dancers.  “Hey,” Sam asked.  “You seen Mack?”

“Your cousin?” Alana replied, looking annoyed.  “No, she stiffed us tonight.  After we’re short-handed too.”

Sam straightened.  “What do you mean?”

“First Malia and Kailani stopped doing evening shows,” complained Alana.  “And then, just before tonight’s performance, Mack, Malia, and Kailani all get into some kind of argument in the dorms.  It made me late, because I was waiting to borrow Mack’s sewing kit.”

“Okay,” Sam said, prompting.  “So where is she?”

“Mack?  Gone,” Alana huffed.  “I went down to wardrobe, and when I come back up, Mack and the others are leaving the room.  You know what your cousin had the gall to tell me?”

“What?” Sam asked warily.

“She says, ‘ _I’ve got a party to go to._ ’  And then the three of them just leave!”  Alana snapped her fingers.  “Just like that!”

* * * * * * *

When confronted by the inexplicable, any detective instinctively wants to examine the scene of the crime.  Sam talked her way past Mackenzie’s suspicious chaperone, and soon was in the tiny dorm room that her cousin shared with Malia and Kailani.  Allowing her instincts to take over, the beautiful investigator began snooping.

The dorm room was a complete mess, as usual.  Discarded clothes and movie magazines littered the floor.  Not one of the beds were made, and the dressers were utterly disheveled.  The tiny closets did little to hide the piles of laundry that had been washed but never folded.  If Sam hadn’t visited Mackenzie on a regular basis, she would have assumed the room had been ransacked.

But nothing seemed unusual.  It was as if the girls had simply stepped out for a cigarette.

Discouraged and worried, Sam turned to leave.  Something crunched under her shoe.

Surprised, the detective looked down, and then knelt.  There was a scattering of sand on the thin carpet.

Sam paused.  Was it her imagination, or was the sand… glittering?

She knelt, scooping a tiny amount of sand into her palm.  This was odd, indeed.  Mackenzie hated the beach.  And now that Sam looked, she noted the fine particles were scattered on **_top_** of the clothes.  This sand had been dropped very, very recently.

The Hawai’i Bureau of Tourism had long promised the world that the islands’ beaches were sugar-like, and that was not a complete exaggeration.  And yet, this sand seemed odd.  Lighter and definitely sparkling, the sand had a faint scent, something Sam could not entirely place.  Something sweet… soothing…  Hmm.

* * * * * * *

Although she was tired, Sam pushed herself into her office early the next morning.  Her caseload was heavy, and she still hoped to swing past Mackenzie’s dormitory.

Sam checked her messages and mail, then spent a little time reorganizing her casebook.  As she was writing, the office door banged open.

“Morning, chief!” cried Halia, bustling into the small office, her backpack in her arms.

Glaring, Sam let out a long, shaky breath.  “What… what are you…?” was all she managed.

Oblivious to the Sam’s irritation, the cheerful teenager immediately tore into her bag, removing stacks of bound papers and plopping them onto the desk.  “So,” she chatted merrily, “I started looking into Baker Colonial Reality.  I don’t understand a lot of the legal terms, but then I found this really neat glossary, which was really, really helpful, you know?  So groovy.  Anyway, Baker Colonial – I call them Baker Col for short – they’ve been filing a lot of requests for-“

“STOP!” the exasperated Sam cried.

Halia looked at her, surprised.

“What… what is all of this?” exclaimed Sam, aghast at the sheer volume of paper.

Halia’s bright smile faded.  “Theodore Harrison…” she said uncertainly.  “You told me to look at Theodore Harrison, and his company, Baker Colonial Reality.  Down at City Records.  Remember?”

Sam was dumbstruck.  “You found all of this at City Records?”

“Oh yes,” Halia assured the detective, becoming a chatterbox once more.  “My mother is a librarian, and Uncle Kale works in City Archives.  So I know my way around big filing systems.”  She waggled her eyebrows.  “I also know where the key to the Xerox photocopier room is.  Anyway…”

Halia began touring Sam through a roundabout – yet very through – history of Baker Colonial’s financial interest in Hawai’i.  There was nothing suspicious or unusual, merely a lot of requests for land records and property contracts.

“Okay,” Sam frowned, lighting a cigarette.  “But what about Harrison?  He’s the real fish.”

“Ah,” said Halia, unearthing a second set of papers.  “Well, he’s been one busy little bee, let me tell you.  Look…”

Harrison was the signature on most of the Baker archive requests.  He’d been poking about property registrations, occasionally filing papers in court, nothing unusual for a corporate real estate man.  There was a lot of money moving about, however.

“Not much there,” Sam remarked.  Still, she was impressed by the sheer amount of material Halia had captured.

“Oh, this is just the stuff Harrison did with the Baker Col name on it,” said Halia.  “But **_this_** is the stuff he did on his own.”  The teenager produced a third stack of documents.

Sam’s eyebrow arched.  “On his own?” she repeated.  Without waiting for the teenager, she began rifling through the last pile of papers.  “Oh my God…!” she exclaimed.

“What?” Halia asked.

Harrison had filed for a boat license.  Not just any boat, either.  According to his application, the Sweet Twilight was a single-mast, thirty-foot cutter, docked in Pier 34.  Right off the _Ke’ehi_ Lagoon.  And Harrison had also been in touch with the US State Department, filing a number of requests for travel advisories.  **_And_** he’d made an appointment with Vital Records at the local courthouse.

Sam plopped into her chair, a wide grin spreading across her face.

“What?” Halia asked.

The detective held up the papers.  “Halia, you beautiful, beautiful girl.  Do you know what you have here?”

“Uh…”

“You’ve just cracked the Harrison case wide open,” Sam smirked.  “Look.”  She began laying down papers as she explained:  “Harrison bought a small yacht, right?  Well, he’s a real estate scout.  He doesn’t have that kind of salary.  So where did he get the cash?”

“Where?” Halia asked.

“He embezzled it, obviously,” Sam pronounced.  “See how many times he’s filed to manipulate Baker Colonial’s money wires?  Here.  And here.  And here.  He’s robbing his employer blind.  And why is he doing this, you may ask?  He also intends to loot his joint bank account with Mrs. Harrison, file for a sudden divorce, then sail off before she has any idea what he’s plotting.”

Sam shook her head.  “And the slimy bastard was going to propose to his girlfriend, Noelani, last night.  Take her with him around the Pacific.  Wow.”

“You can see all that…?” Halia asked, looking at the papers, bewildered.

“Its all there,” Sam said, absently twirling her cigarette.  She scrunched up her face.  “Only one thing bugs me, though…”

“What?” Halia asked.

Sam took a long draw, thinking.  “I’ve seen our man Harrison.  And I’ve seen what his girl looks like.  He’s older than her father and uglier than a warthog; she’s an absolute stunner.  A girl like Noelani doesn’t get involved with a man like Harrison because he writes her flowery poetry.  She throws herself at him because he has money.”

“Okay…” Halia said, not following.

“So, once Noelani had her sugar daddy wrapped around her little finger and they both are about to sail away in stolen luxury… why didn’t she show up last night?”  The detective exhaled smoke, lost in thought.  “Why dump her meal ticket?”

“Oh…” said Halia slowly.

Sam gave it another few seconds before shrugging her shoulders.  “Ah, who cares.  Maybe Noelani decided Harrison wasn’t worth it at the last second.  Who knows.  The important thing is, we got our man.”

The detective regarded Halia with something like admiration.  “How long did it take you to pull all this together?”

“Couple hours,” said the teenager almost sheepishly.  “I had to stop for lunch and pee breaks.”

Sam broke into a wide smile.

“Can I work with you, then?” the teen pleaded.  “Please, please???”

Sam scooped up her casebook.  “I have to make some stops.  Listen, I need you to go up to the university.  See if any geologist has done a survey of all the sand here on the islands.”

“Sand?” Halia echoed.

“Sand,” repeated Sam firmly.  “It’s for a new case.  Can you get that information?”

The teenager straightened in pride.  “You got it, chief!”

Sam nodded tightly.  Then she picked up the phone, dialing Mrs. Harrison’s number.

* * * * * * *

That day was a busy one.  Sam had two other cases to work on, both of which ate up more time than she’d anticipated.  Before she knew it, it was past seven o’clock in the evening.  And the detective had yet to have lunch.

Sam was in Honolulu’s Chinatown, not far from Aala Park.  It was increasingly unlikely she’d have the time to swing by the _Hotel Hotel_ _Maikaʻi_ and check up on Mackenzie.  Cursing the fates, Sam found a pay phone instead.

Almost immediately, one of the dormitory chaperones picked up.  “Mackenzie Kono, please,” Sam asked.

The chaperone almost exploded.  “ _Is this that Sam Smith?_ ” the older woman ranted.  “ _Well, me tell you something, missy.  You tell your little cousin that she can’t just leave for parties in the evening!  I’ve rescheduled her for the day shows, but we have too many girls skipping the evening shows!_ ”

“Wait,” Sam said, alarmed.  “Mackenzie left for a party?”

“ _You’re a bad influence on her, I just know it!_ ” the chaperone cried, then hung up.

Sam bit her lip, now really worried.  Mackenzie was responsible and a naturally shy girl, to boot.  It just wasn’t like her to run off for a wild party.  And certainly not two days in a row.

What had Mack said about her friends, Malia and Kailani?  _Its like they turned into Pod People or something._   Now Sam knew what she meant.

As the detective fretted, the winds changed.  A handful of small, delicate flower petals swept over the phone booth.

Sam paused, looking down at the tiny blooms.  They were triangular-shaped, barely a quarter-inch long.  She glanced about.  Ah!  The ripening Hala trees in the park were shedding all these flowers.  Already, they were sprinkled over the nearby parked cars.

A flash of recognition hit Sam.  She’d seen very similar blooms recently…  Where…?  Oh yes, outside of Kuliouou-Kalani Iki.  From that big manor house up on the hill.  Those blooms had a different scent, however.  They smelled like pumpkin and lilac.

Pumpkin and lilac…

The glittering sand Sam had found in Mackenzie’s dorm room had smelled of pumpkin and lilac.

Feeling both worried and hopeful, the detective turned and hurried to her car.

* * * * * * *

Eastward traffic on the Kalaniana'ole Highway was thankfully light, and soon Sam found herself down the hill from the manor house.

What was this estate?  She wished she’d thought to look it up earlier.

As before, the house was aglow with light, and there was rock-n-roll playing from outdoor speakers.  The sound of laughing women carried down the hill.

Sam snatched her casebook.

* * * * * * *

Sam squinted as she approached the big house, which was protected by high stone walls and a gate of black iron.  The estate was positive massive; there had to be at least five acres of carefully-manicured grounds inside those walls.  The great mansion dominated the center of the property.

There were lines of Koa and Hala trees lining the interior of the walls, and the scent of pumpkin and lilac was unmistakable.  The detective paused to collect a few of the blooms to press into her casebook.  While they looked like traditional Hawai’ian vegetation, Sam was fairly certain there was something odd about these flowers.

The iron gate was open.  Sam didn’t see a bell.  Across the wide lawn, she could see a few young women in bikinis setting up a volleyball net on the greens.

“Excuse me!” Sam called out.

The young women didn’t hear her.  Sam paused, debating what to do.

As she touched the black gates, the redheaded detective noted a fine powder coating the metal.  No, not powder.  Pollen!  A thin, white pollen was everywhere, almost invisible to the eye, but highly fragrant.  Pumpkin and lilac.  Sam withdrew her hand, noting how the pollen had already stuck to her fingertips.  No doubt those strange trees were scattering the seed like crazy.

“Hey there!” a bubbly voice behind Sam exclaimed.

The detective turned, surprised.

Behind her was a beautiful Hawai’ian girl, positively radiant in the evening light.  The young woman had black wavy hair, big brown eyes, shining white teeth, and a stunning complexion.  Sam was mildly jealous of her beauty.

“Isn’t this exciting?” the girl sighed.  “I always enjoy these parties.  Is this your first time?”

“Uh, yes,” Sam lied.

“Oh, great,” the other woman beamed.  “Can I show you in?  The more, the merrier, I always say.”

Before Sam could protest, her companion took her by the arm, propelled her through the gate, and toward the house.

As they passed under a lamp, Sam got a clear look at the beautiful woman’s face.  Her heart leapt.  The girl was Noelani, Noelani Iona!  **_Theodore Harrison’s ex-mistress!_**

“You’ll just love it here,” Noelani dreamily promised Sam.  “I know I do.”

* * * * * * *

Incredulous, Sam followed the lovely Noelani up the main walk, over a stone patio, and into the manor house.  The mansion was immaculately clean, with high, white walls, shining tiled floors, and the distant scent of blooming flowers in the air.  Large ceiling fans lazily spun above.  The lighting was soft, yet not dim.  Sam noticed large nautical maps framed on the walls.

Noelani seemed to know exactly where she was going.  She led Sam up one of the twin staircases, then down a gently curving hallway.  As they passed bedrooms, Sam could hear and see many beautiful young women, all in various states of undress.  She felt increasingly uncomfortable.

“Here we are,” Noelani announced, and entered the fifth bedroom on the right.

The room was tidy and the bed was recently made.  Neatly laid out on the bureau was a collection of small, identical white boxes, each perhaps the size of a thick book.

Sam noted the bedroom’s window looked out onto the main lawn, where more young women were organizing a badminton game.  A sparling pool was visible.  A dance area was also in preparation by more bikini’ed women.  It looked to be quite a celebration.

“So, um…” Sam asked, craning her neck to see as much of the outside as she could, “you come here often?”

“This is my third party,” replied Noelani, her voice warm and happy.

Sam’s eyes popped when she glanced back into the bedroom.  Noelani was stripping completely naked.  Unconcerned with Sam’s presence or the open bedroom door, the willowy young lady took her time, making sure to neatly fold her discarded clothes as she went.

“You aren’t changing?” she asked Sam casually.

“Er…” the detective replied.  Awkwardly, she shuffled her casebook back and forth in her hands.

Noelani, now completely nude, moved to the bureau and opened the first box.  “Rose?” she mused to herself.  “Mmm, not today.”

Sam studied the other woman carefully.  Noelani seemed almost unaware of her actions, as if she were walking through a dream.  Perhaps she was high?  Drug use on the islands was rare, but not unheard of.

Noelani certainly didn’t seemed drugged, however.  She was a classic Hawai’ian beauty, with elegant coffee skin and supple-yet-sleek curves.  Sam could see why Harrison was gaga for this young woman’s luscious body.

Noelani rejected two more boxes before exclaiming, “Ah!  Sky blue!” on her fourth selection.

Now Sam saw what was in the little boxes; Noelani removed a miniscule blue bikini and immediately began putting it on.

With a quick glance outside, Sam confirmed: all the women here were wearing the same design of bikini.  Different colors, yes, but the same model on every girl.  Breasts were displayed, tummies laid bare, bottoms nearly exposed.  Sam had a trim figure herself, but she would never be caught dead in such an outfit.

“You all wear the same swimsuit?” she asked, surprised.

Noelani looked at Sam with an odd expression, and too late, the detective realized she’d made a mistake.  “I mean,” Sam said quickly, “do you always pick the same color?”

“Me?  No.  I like to change up,” the other woman replied, tucking her breasts into their cups.

“Its my first party,” Sam reminded her.

Noelani nodded, but now seemed suspicious.  “How do you know Harper?” she asked, point-blank.

Sam was cornered.  Going for broke, she lied freely.  “Oh,” she said casually, “you know…  My cousin Mackenzie, she’s been to one of these parties.  She thought she could introduce me to Harper.  Looking forward to meeting him.”

Immediately, Noelani’s expression brightened.  “Oh, you’re Mackenzie’s cousin?” she exclaimed, delighted.

“Yeah,” replied Sam.  “You know Mack?”

“Oh, she’s just a doll,” Noelani beamed, adjusting her bikini top.  “We love her here.”  She gestured to the tiny, white boxes.  “Don’t you want to get changed?”

Sam hesitated.  Donning a bikini would help her blend in… but she just couldn’t do it.  Sam never had been a beach bunny kind of girl.

“Maybe later,” she offered.

“Mmmgh,” said Noelani.  “Well, let’s go find your cousin.”

* * * * * * *

The two women descended from the mansion and out into the party, which was finally in full swing.  There was a champagne bar, two volleyball games, croquet, pool activities, a scavenger hunt in the gardens, and a limbo competition.  On the dance floor, girls were happily twisting away to Chubby Checker.

Sam stared in all directions.  There were perhaps twenty young women here, all strapped into the same tiny bikini, all laughing and giggling and carrying on like wild teenagers.  Everyone was smiling like it was Christmas morning.

It took the investigator a moment, but soon she was certain.  The only attendees of this party were gorgeous, stunning young women, all with svelte bodies, all with bouncing breasts and long, bare legs.  There were no men, no-one over the age of thirty nor under the age of sixteen.  And while most of the beauties were native girls, there were a few mainlanders smiling in the crowd.  Everyone seemed wildly happy, almost intoxicated.  It was all very odd.  In her street clothes and with her casebook under one arm, Sam felt very out-of-place.

“There she is!” Noelani exclaimed, linking her arm with Sam’s.  “Mackenzie!  Mackenzie, baby!  Look who I found!”

Sam stared ahead, to the poolside.  There, in a cluster of three other near-naked women, was Mackenzie.  As the young hula dancer turned, the detective was stunned.  Her cousin was nearly unrecognizable.

Mackenzie stood tall and proud, her lovely chin high, her shoulders square, and her ample chest stuck out.  Her half-Irish, half-native skin stood out from the other girls, and shimmered with what Sam guessed was coconut oil.  Mackenzie’s rich, green eyes glinted, and her smile wide and sweet.  Her long, wavy muddy red hair, which was usually tied up, now tumbled down her back like a waterfall.  The girl glowed with confidence and delight.

Sam was taken aback to see Mackenzie in a bikini.  She’d seen her cousin in her hula costume of a grass skirt and those ridiculous coconut bras, or course.  But this bikini was something else entirely.  The hula costume was a lame attempt to cater to naïve mainlander tourists; the bikini was designed to show off a woman’s body and make her irresistible.  Sam had never seen the overtly sexy Mackenzie before.

There was something else, something which gave Sam pause.  Mackenzie was normally shy and nervous.  Here, she seemed outgoing, confident, positively giddy.  Even as Sam eyed her cousin, Mackenzie tossed her hair in a playful way, then laughed heartily.

Something was definitely amiss.

“Sam!” Mackenzie crowed, moving to embrace her cousin.  “You came!  I’m so glad!”

“Hey, cuz,” replied Sam, aware of all the other women watching closely.  “I… uh, didn’t know you were into the party scene.”

Sam knew for a fact that Mackenzie hated parties.

“Oh, I just love it here,” the hula dancer gushed, popping her head to one side in an airheaded, flirty way.  “The other girls, they just make be feel so…  I dunno.  So at home here.”

There was a chattering of agreement from all the other bikini’ed women.

“I see,” Sam said guardedly.

“So you got invited, too?” Mackenzie asked, moving to take Sam’s arm.  “Have you met Harper?”

The detective studied Mackenzie’s almost-vacant eyes, weighing what she wanted to say next very carefully.  “Not really.  So… did they offer you anything to drink or snort when you got here?”

Mackenzie laughed, a joyous and musical sound.  “Oh my goodness,” she declared, leaning close to Sam.  “You haven’t actually been here before, have you?”

Now the other women were clustering about, surrounding Sam and Mackenzie in a curious circle.  Beautiful smiles beamed at Sam from all directions.  The detective failed to notice as the women passed a small, velvet bag between one another.  As Sam and Mackenzie were talking, that bag reached Noelani.

“Mack,” Sam said, dropping pretenses, “can we talk for a sec?  Just you and me?”

“Of course,” said Mackenzie, still chuckling.  “We can talk about anything you want, Sam.”

“Okay,” Sam said.  “Listen-“

The velvet bag was slipped into Mackenzie’s hand.  Noelani had untied the clasp, and now Mackenzie’s graceful fingers slipped inside.

“What’s that?” said Sam, craning her neck to look.

Mackenzie laughed joyously.  “Sam, dear, you should _sleeeeeep_ …” she said gaily, playfully throwing her hand into the air.

A small amount of glittering sand flew from her fingers, catching Sam in the face.  The fine sand was so light, it appeared like a cloud of shimmering chalk dust.

The detective staggered back, coughing and gagging.  Instantly, two women stepped forward, taking her by the shoulders and making sure she didn’t topple over.

“There, Sam,” Mackenzie smiled, stepping closer.  A grinning Noelani moved in, too.  The hula dancer placed a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder.  “Don’t you want to relax?”

Sam’s mind tumbled.  For an instant, her thoughts whirled about.

“You want to relax, Sam,” Mackenzie said gently.  She stepped forward, gently laying her hand on the dazed PI’s cheek.  “Relax…  Relax…  Listen to me, Sam.”

The confused detective felt Mackenzie’s words penetrate her mind.  As she regained control of her breathing, Sam was dimly aware that her body **_was_** relaxing.  Her arms and legs were letting go.  Her head felt heavy and wobbled atop her neck.

“I’ll take that, honey,” another woman murmured in Sam’s ear.  She felt the casebook removed from her heavy fingers.

“That’s it,” Mackenzie purred.  “You want to sleep, Sam.  Close your eyes, and fall into a deep, deep sleep, Sam.  Let go.  Surrender, Sam.  Relax…”

 _I can’t…_ Sam instinctively thought.  But it was too late.  Her body and mind were now under a powerful enchantment, and she could not disobey.  Her heavy lids closed.  She was aware of Mackenzie’s gentle hand resting against her face.

Mackenzie’s voice floated in the center of Sam’s mind.  It was sweet and all-powerful.  _Wonderful, Sam_ , it said, delighted.  _Now go deeper into relaxation.  You want only to follow and obey the voices of your sisters.  Relax and obey, Sam._

 _Yes, Sam,_ other women’s voices chimed in.  _Relax and obey us.  You want to obey.  You want to obey._

 _Very good, Sam,_ Mackenzie’s voice complimented, weaving between what the other women were saying.  _You want to obey.  You will find that anytime me or one of your sisters holds your face like this, you will automatically want to relax and obey.  Relax and obey…_

Sam was helpless.  She sighed once as her mind gave up her will and then her thoughts dissolved completely.

* * * * * * *

Adrift in perfect relaxation, Sam was only dimly aware of the other voices, commanding her and placing strong compulsions deep within her thoughts.  At times, the entranced detective thought she heard Mackenzie’s voice; other times, she had no idea where her cousin was.  At all moments, however, she was guided by the irresistible voices of her sisters.

It felt so **_good_** to dwell in this perfect tranquility, to surrender all control of her body and mind, to allow those loving female voices tell her how to think and what to do.  Sam loved it all.

And then, she was aware that she was being roused.  The world was fading back into existence.  She was aware of her arms, then her legs, then her head.  She could feel the moist night air on her skin.

“And now… awaken!” Mackenzie’s voice commanded.

* * * * * * *

Sam’s eyes fluttered open.  She was beside the pool, as before.  Mackenzie stood before her, with Noelani close by.  All the other sisters hovered, expectantly watching her.

“How do you feel, cousin?” Mackenzie asked, a sweet smile on her lips.

Sam opened her mouth.

“Oh my **_God_** , you guys!” she blurted out.  “Are we here to party, or what?”

As the other women cheered, Sam blushed.  She felt like a giddy teenager.

* * * * * * *


	3. Whoa There, Foxy Lady

Sam smiled joyfully at the bikini’ed women clustered about her.  Completely forgetting her investigator persona, she immediately wanted to dive into the party activities.

“Whoa there, foxy lady,” Mackenzie chuckled.  “You think you need some hipper threads?”

Sam paused, looking down at herself.  Her street clothes, perfect for a private sleuth, stared back at her.

“Oh my God, you guys,” the young redhead blushed.  “What am I wearing?  This outfit’s so **_square!_** ”

All the women, including Sam, laughed.

“C’mon,” Noelani beamed, taking Sam by the hand.  “I’ll hook you up.”

* * * * * * *

Five minutes later, Sam had shed her clothes, swapping everything for a teeny white bikini with little pink flowers.  The instant she put it on, the young woman felt invigorated, as if all her life she was meant to wear such a skimpy costume.

“Much hipper,” Sam giggled with satisfaction, and admiring her slim figure in the mirror.  In a moment of airheaded playfulness, she wiggled her butt, just for fun.  “Boop-boo-be- ** _doop!_** ”

Both Sam and Noelani giggled like kindergarteners.

“Alright, sister,” Noelani joyously chided.  “Let’s get down there!  The party’s started without us!”

“What a gas!” Sam cried, her eyes glowing.  The two women hurried outside.

* * * * * * *

And what a party it was.  Sam eagerly joined a volleyball game, and played her best.  The funny thing was, not one of the ladies was keeping score, and girls frequently switched sides without realizing they’d done so.  But who cared?  Laughing and playing with the other women was so much fun!

“Into the pool, into the pool!” screamed Mackenzie, in sheer delight.

There was a giggling stampede of women who dashed across the greens.  An onlooker would have been amazed at the sheer number of nude, curvy legs, exposed shoulders, arms, and tummies.  The bouncing breasts and tight little rears were barely concealed behind the rainbow of bikinis.  The women leapt into the crystal blue water.

Sam laughed and splashed, so happy to be in such wonderful company.  When a young woman she’d just met (but now loved more dearly than a sister) playfully waggled her breasts, Sam squealed and waggled her breasts back.  This created gales of overjoyed laughter, and soon a new “titty wave” party game had been invented.  The exact rules were never nailed down, but Sam was a star player.

Then, another game broke out.  “ ** _Chicken fight!_** ” a brown-skinned beauty next to Sam shouted joyously.

Before Sam could react, she was hoisted onto the shoulders of another woman, and then was facing a similarly-hoisted Noelani, just two feet away.

“Fight, fight!” the women gleefully chanted, although there was nothing but innocent mischief in their voices.  Sam roared with laughter, then playfully shoved at Noelani, just a little.

The other woman’s face lit up.  “Oh, you naughty little minx!” Noelani declared, in faked outrage.  She kicked water at Sam.

And then the battle was on.  Sam and Noelani slapped and pushed, although neither woman really put any force into the playful blows.  The onlookers cheered and laughed and whistled.

Eventually, Sam felt the girl beneath her – she never found out who it was – lurch backward.  And then Sam was toppling into the water.  She screamed with delighted laughter all the way down.

She’d never had so much fun.

* * * * * * *

And that was Sam’s night.  She flitted from party activity to party activity, always laughing, always teasing, always overjoyed to meet another of her sisters.  She never grew tired or needed to withdraw.  It was like the wild celebration simply fueled more and more delight within her.

Sam was like a joyous little girl again.  She was bubbly, scatterbrained, carefree.  Rarely did two thoughts pass through her mind that were connected.  All she knew was that she was having so much fun!  These women were **_so much fun!_**

Normally Sam the Detective would be inspecting everything, observing, making mental notes, being the sleuth.  But now?  She was entirely unconcerned about anything in the world.  Her vast intellect was asleep.  She twirled through the evening, loving every moment, comprehending nothing.

* * * * * * *

It was while Sam was in the Mashed Potato Dancing Contest that a low, bell-like chime sounded from the manor house.  Immediately, the other women straightened, their smiles restrained.

“Come on, you cats,” Sam grinned, still dancing away.  “Gotta keep boogieing!”

“No, Sam,” Noelani said gently, but firmly.  “You really have to come with me.”

As she spoke these words, Noelani’s hand gently cupped Sam’s cheek.  Instantly, the scatterbrained redhead forgot about dancing.  A fog descended over her thoughts.  She felt calm and obedient.

“Come,” Noelani smiled sweetly.

Now under her sister’s spell, Sam followed all the other women to the stone patio.  There, the deck chairs were arranged in a wide circle.  Burning tiki torches were placed all about, casting the stone platform in a gentle, golden light.

All the women gathered here.  They were standing in small groups, talking quietly.  The mood was still relaxed and cheerful… although the madcap delight of the party had clearly passed.

As Noelani led Sam into the torchlight, Mackenzie appeared.  She smiled at her cousin.  “Come with me, Sam,” she instructed.

Sam meekly allowed Mackenzie to guide her into one of the chairs.  Four other women were placed next to her.

“I could use a cigarette,” Sam remarked off-handedly.

“Oh, Sam,” Mackenzie pouted, “that’s so bad for you, you know?”

“But I want one,” Sam said.

Mackenzie smiled again.  “Well, I can fix that,” she promised in a motherly tone.  “Sam?  **_Sleeeeeep…_** ”  And she caressed Sam’s cheek with one loving palm.

Immediately, Sam’s body dissolved into perfect relaxation.  Her mind went blank and her eyes closed.  She descended into a powerful trance.

“ _Wonderful, Sam,_ ” Mackenzie’s purring voice said.  “ _You will sleep, sleep deeply until one of the other girls awakens you.  You will remember nothing.  Do you understand?_ ”

“Yes…” Sam heard her own toneless voice reply.

“ _Very good,_ ” complimented Mackenzie.  “ _When you next awaken, Sam, you will no longer have a craving for cigarettes.  Not ever.  You will never want to smoke again.  Do you understand?_ ”

Once again, Sam’s lips replied, “Yes…”

“ _Yes, Sam, yes,_ ” Mackenzie murmured.  “ _Relax and obey…_ ”

The younger woman’s voice rippled on, embedding more commands into the depths of Sam’s mind.

* * * * * * *

And then Sam was floating that perfect, meditative relaxation, she became aware of the other women about her.  They had expanded their conversation, and were now holding an open council.

The women spoke calmly and one-at-a-time, and all earlier traces of their giggly, wild personas were gone now.  Sam listened, fascinated, as the conversation rolled on.  Sometimes, she thought she recognized Mackenzie’s voice.  But she could never be sure.

One woman asked, “ _Have all the new women been put into sleep?_ ”

“ _Sam is in sleep.  I will put Kaleah, Wendy, Alanah, and Malina into trance now._ ”

There was a slight pause.  The torchfire crackled.

“ _There.  They are asleep.  We can give them their return commands later._ ”

“ _Our next party is in three days._ ” another woman said.  “ _Who can attend?_ ”

One-by-one, Sam heard the women respond:

“ _I can attend._ ”

“ _I can attend._ ”

“ _I can not attend; my boyfriend wishes to propose.  Harper does not want engaged or married women in the parties._ ”

“ _I can attend._ ”

One-by-one, each woman stated if she was available to return.  Sam listened, fascinated.  It was as if these ladies had been bewitched by total honesty and they were only loyal to preserving the next party.  Every one spoke in the same, flat tone.  No-one had an agenda or personal desire.

“ _I cannot attend; my vacation is over tomorrow.  I must fly back to Seattle in the morning._ ”

“ _I can attend._ ”

“ _I cannot attend; I will lose my job if I skip work again._ ”

And on and on it went.  Six women were leaving the secret community; fourteen were returning; three more plus Sam would be compelled to return, too.

“ _Very well,_ ” someone said.  “ _Harper wants us all to go into our minds one last time tonight.  Memories must be cleansed._ ”

All the women began softly chanting, in unison:  “ _I feel relaxed.  I release my thoughts.  In a moment, I will return home.  When the next time comes, I will follow and obey all of the instructions in my mind.  Until, then, I will remember nothing.  I will remember nothing.  I will remember nothing._ ”

And then, Sam felt herself sink deeper.  Her own mind stopped listening, and she knew nothing more.

* * * * * * *

The sun peaked through the curtains, attacking Sam’s closed eyelids.  She groaned, and rolled over.

Then the detective blinked, rousing herself.  She was in bed.  In her apartment.  The morning birds were chattering away outside.  She could smell the coffee that her neighbor down the hall was brewing.

Sam yawned like a grizzly bear.  She stretched, rolled over again, and stared at the ceiling.  Her thoughts were a jumbled mess.  What…?

Wait a minute.

Sam looked down at herself in surprise.  She was completely nude.  That was odd; ever since she caught pneumonia as a teenager, she’d always worn pajamas at night.  Even on the islands’ hottest, stickiest nights.

Confused, Sam rose and staggered toward her tiny shower.  Why hadn’t she worn pajamas?  For that matter, what had she been doing last night?  Why hadn’t…?

As she twisted the water on, Sam frowned.  Yesterday, she’d worked her cases, and then tried to call Mackenzie.  Yes!  Yes, that was it.  She’d phoned Mackenzie, but gotten that busybody chaperone instead.  And then…

And then there was nothing.  Sam couldn’t remember a thing.

For a detective, a memory lapse is an alarming and potentially job-threatening thing.  Sleuths like Sam depended on detailed recollections to piece together cases.  Oh, a forgotten moment here or there wasn’t the end of the world…  But to lose an entire evening?  That was positively frightening.

Sam was about to step into the shower when she noted her skin.  She was covered with the finest trace of some infitesimal particle, a strange, white dust.  Sam sniffed.  A dust with a fragrance.  A pollen!

The substance had an odd aroma…  like pumpkin and lilac.

Frowning, Sam stepped into the water.  Should that scent seem familiar?

* * * * * * *

The detective’s thoughts were still jumbled and bumping about when she reached her office.  With annoyance, she noted that despite furious scrubbing, not all of that sticky pollen had come off in the shower.

Of course, Halia was waiting in front of her office door, her smile brighter than a sunrise.  As usual, the girl was hugging an oversized backpack.

“Good Morning, Chief!” Halia chirped.

“Mmgh,” grunted a still-sleepy Sam.

As the detective fumbled with her keys, Halia launched into her report, talking at breathless speeds:  “So, I looked up sand surveys, like you wanted, right?  And there are like, three different people who are sand people.  Like, there’s the geology people up at the university.  They wrote, like, a bunch of books about Hawai’i sand.  I looked them up, but I haven’t read them yet.  Did you want me to read them?  They’re a lot.  There’s also a land survey by the US Department of… of Something.  They did an official survey of the beaches back in ’48.  And then-“

Sam tuned out the perpetual chatterbox.  She unlocked her office, gathered the mail, then moved to sit at her desk.  Halia relentlessly droned on.

Suddenly Sam’s head cleared.  She shot to her feet.

“My casebook!” she exclaimed, cutting Halia off midsentence.

“Huh?” the teenager said.

Almost frantic, Sam began looking about.  “My casebook!  My notebook with all my case notes in it!  Its not here!”

“Oh,” Halia said, and began looking about.  “Well, I can lend you a notebook, if you need-“

“No,” interrupted Sam, annoyed.  She began stooping to peer under the furniture.  “This is my **_casebook_**.  You don’t understand; I never leave it anywhere.  **_Ever._**   My whole professional life is in that damn little book.”

Not long ago, a thug had threatened Sam with a knife when she’d dared to jot his name into her book.  At the risk of being stabbed, she’d held her ground and refused to surrender the tome.  Another time, she’d risked life and limb to rescue the book when Mackenzie’s family house briefly caught fire.  Sam would never have discarded that book casually.

After turning the little office upside-down, Sam sat, fuming.  The casebook was gone.

“Where did you last see it?” Halia probed.

This was a reasonable question.  Sam closed her eyes, thinking furiously.  The last time she had the book…

…was in her BMW.  Last night.  Right around when she called Mackenzie’s dorm.

The fragment of a memory bubbled into Sam’s mind.  She smelled pumpkin and lilac.

“Com’on,” she snapped at the teenager.  “We’re going for a drive.”

* * * * * * *

Sam was half-surprised to realize that her car was covered in white pollen, that same pollen which smelled of faintly pumpkin and lilac.  How had she not noticed before?  It was as if she had finally awakened from a long, strange sleep, and only now her detective’s instincts were coming back to her.

The two young women piled into the BMW’s front seats, and they were off.  Halia chatted nonstop, all the way across town, and then all along the highway.  Her ability to ramble continuously on any given topic was truly impressive.  And alarming.

* * * * * * *

After a half an hour, Sam found herself once again at the base of the hill, looking up at the great mansion overlooking Wailupe Beach.

“Hey,” Halia said, surprised, “that’s Thursby Manor.”

“You know it?” asked Sam.

“My dad talks about it, sometimes,” Halia explained.  “He’s a cop, you know.  The cops come up here every now and then to check on the place, because, you know, its kinda far from town, right?  But dad doesn’t think anyone lives here.”

“Huh,” said Sam, starting up the hill.  “Why’s he think that?”

“He never sees anyone here, like, ever,” rambled Halia.  “Of course, it’s a rich person house, and rich people sometimes live somewhere else, like New York, and then they come here just for the season, you know?  So I figure that’s what’s going on.”

“Fascinating,” Sam drawled.  She was eyeing the small, white flowers littered on the ground in all directions.  The aroma of lilac and pumpkin was everywhere.

* * * * * * *

Before too long, both women stood at the iron gates, looking into the yawning estate.  The great white house stood silent, all the windows closed.  But Sam could see a team of gardeners toiling away on the far side of the property.  A pool boy was tending the grounds, too.  A neat line of Koa and Hala trees lined the perimeter, just inside the walls.  As Sam watched, the barest handful of tiny white blossoms dropped from twisted branches.

The detective folded her arms and glowered.

“What?” Halia said, looking between Sam and the house in rapid movements.

The redheaded woman didn’t answer immediately.  “Every instinct I have tells me that I’ve been in this house recently,” she mused aloud.  “And yet… I have absolutely no memory of being here.”

“Well, that’s just weird,” Halia scoffed.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, determined.  “Too weird.  Com’on.”

She reached inside the gate, popping the latch.  Then, moving quickly, she stole into the property.

Halia’s eyes bugged at this brazen act.  Then, looking nervously over her shoulder, she scampered after the detective.

* * * * * * *

The two women hurried up a side path that was lined with small hedges and rose bushes.  Sam kept a sharp eye in all directions.  But no face appeared in the house’s dark windows, nor did the outdoor workers so much as glance in the women’s direction.  Soon detective and teenager were standing on the wide stone patio, gazing up at the mansion.

“You still think this house is vacant?” Sam sarcastically asked.

“I guess,” the teen replied.  “Why?”

“There was a party here,” Sam pointed out.  “See?  Burnt tiki torches.  Recently-trampled grass.  See where metal chairs were scraped across the stone?  There.  And there.  I’d say it was quite a bash.”

Sam looked about again, then tested the French doors.  They were unlocked.  She jerked her head at Halia, a gesture which said _Follow me_.

* * * * * * *

The two women removed and carried their shoes, as to not clack on the indoor Spanish tiles.  Then they stole into the great house, looking all about them.  Halia went pale and, for once, fell silent.

They were standing in a large foyer, with high ceilings, twin staircases lazily sloping upstairs, and multiple passageways back into the great house.  The two women could hear the whir of a vacuum cleaner above them.  Then, heavy footsteps crossed from one room to another up on the second floor.

Sam bit her lip, looking about.  She wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Chief…” Halia breathed, looking positively scared.

“C’mon,” the detective replied, and moved toward the open doorway to their immediate left.

This led to a billiards room, with a custom, brown carpet, tall bookcases made of chestnut, a grand hearth, and a full bar made from cherry and iron off in the corner.  The room had been recently tidied, and the acrid scent of cleaner was still in the air.

Outside the room, the women could hear someone descending the staircase.

“Quick!” Sam hissed, and both ladies flattened themselves against the wall.

They heard the person reached the ground floor, pause, then cross the tiled floor.  Then there was a neat thud and a click as the French doors out to the patio were pulled shut and locked.  The person then moved away into the house.  The women waited until the footfalls faded into the distance.

“Chief…” Halia moaned, clearly frightened.  “Chief, if we’re caught, my dad, he’s gonna kill me if I get arrested-“

“Shh…!” Sam cautioned her.  “We’re okay.  Besides, I can’t leave yet.”

Ignoring the teenager’s miserable expression, Sam’s experienced eyes wandered everywhere.  A bizarre feeling of _déjà vu_ was eating at her.  But nothing looked familiar.  Still holding her shoes, she began to move through the room.

The bookcases were filled with thick volumes, all with titles like Botany of the South Pacific, Tree Species of Fiji, The Complete Catalogue of Arecaceae Tree Species, Volumes I, II, and III.  Also: Navigation by the Stars, The Voyages of Captain Cook, The Handbook of 20th Century Seamanship, and The Atlas of Pacific Waters.  On the lower shelves, Sam spotted Brecht’s Advanced Psychology and Hypnotism and Pattern-Enforcement Clinical Studies.

The detective shook her head, wondering who could possibly have interests across such a bizarre collection.  Her gaze moved on.

On one wall, hanging over a small nineteenth-century writing desk, was an old black-and-white photograph, possibly clipped and enlarged from Life Magazine.  In it, a kindly, white-haired gentlemen gazed down at a lovely young lady, his hand resting gently on her cheek.  The woman stared back, her expression blank.

There was a printed caption:  **_Dr. Heinrich Brecht demonstrates his “cheek cupping” hypnotic technique on Miss Betty Wilson, age 18.  Miss Wilson is being placed into a hypnotic trance merely with the touch of Dr. Brecht’s…_**

Footfalls within the house moved towards the stairs.

“Chief…!” Halia whimpered.  “Can’t we go **_now?_** ”

Sam scowled.  “Just calm down,” she whispered, continuing her search.  “We’ll…”

Suddenly, the detective’s breath sucked inward.

“What?” Halia asked fearfully.

Sam crossed to the bar.  There, casually lying on the bar’s polished surface, was her casebook.

The detective seized the volume, a look of conviction on her face.  Just for certainty, she opened the book, quickly inspecting the last few pages.  A small, white flower bloom that had been pressed between the pages fell out, landing at her feet.

At that moment, a woman’s distant voice from upstairs shouted, “Luana!  Have you seen the feather dusters?”

A second woman, this one in the adjacent room, hollered back:  “They’re in the billiards room!”

Sam’s heart leapt.  Sure enough, the plastic feather duster carton was resting on the floor next to her, just out of the way.

Footfalls from the floor above began to approach the staircase.

“ ** _Let’s get outta here_** ,” Sam whispered urgently at Halia.

In a flash, both women popped back into their shoes.  They tore back across the large foyer, unlocking and throwing open the French doors, then racing away along the path.  They ignored the surprised and alarmed voices that yelled after them while they made their escape.

* * * * * * *


	4. So This Is Our Man, Eh?

Five minutes later, Sam and Halia were back on the Kalaniana'ole Highway, barreling into town.  Halia still hadn’t recovered from their scare.

“Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh,” the rattled teenager babbled over and over.  “We weren’t allowed to be in that house, were we?  Omigosh.  What if we’d been caught?  Would we be going to jail?  Do you think they tried to chase us?  Oh my, oh my!”

“Its okay,” Sam told her, waving an impatient hand.  “We **_weren’t_** caught, right?”

“I know!” squeaked Halia.  “It was so exciting!”  Her eyes shone.  “Do you do snoop around like that on every case?”

Sam couldn’t resist a big, lopsided grin.  Halia was growing on her.

“Will we be going back?” Halia asked.

“I don’t think so,” Sam mused.  “We got the big clue I was looking for.”

“Your book?” Halia asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said grimly.  “That proves I **_was_** at Thursby Manor last night.  I just don’t remember it.”

Halia processed this statement.  “What… what does that mean?”

“I have a theory,” Sam said thoughtfully.  “But we need more information.”  Her eyes glued on the road, she absently rummaged in her oversized purse with her free hand.  “You got your backpack on you?”

“Yeah,” Halia replied.

“Okay,” Sam said, drawing out her pack of cigarettes from the purse.  “I’m gonna drop you off at City Records.  Forget about sand surveys.  I need you to research that house.  Who owns it?  Who is living there now?  When was the house built?  Are there any lawsuits associated with that address?  Whatever you can find.”

She passed the pack of cigarettes to Halia.  “Here, give me one of these, will ya?”

The teenager obediently drew out one cigarette and handed it back.  “There should be a lot of stuff at the library,” she said.

Sam accepted the cigarette.  “Oh?  Why do you say that?”

Halia giggled.  “See, now I know **_for sure_** that you only moved to the islands recently.  Not long ago, everybody knew Thursby Manor.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam frowned, not at all appreciating the teen’s gentle ribbing.

“I remember when I was a little girl, there was a big policeman’s ball at Thursby Manor,” Halia recalled.  “I guess Mr. Thursby gave to police charities?  I guess.  Mamma wanted to go to the ball, ‘cause it would be all fancy, like the ball in Cinderella’s story, you know?  But poppa couldn’t get tickets.  We were too poor.  She was so upset.  Afterward, that party was in all the papers.  Momma was so sad.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam mused.  “Okay, to the library, then.  But won’t it be harder to pull information from library microfilm than from City Records?”

“Leave that to me,” Halia grinned.

“I like your determination,” Sam told her.

* * * * * * *

The midmorning traffic was mercifully light, and soon, Sam pulled up to the Hawai’i State Public Library Main Branch, right on South King Street.  “I gotta drop you off here,” the detective said to Halia.  “How much time do you need?”

“I dunno,” the teenager shrugged.  “Maybe most of the day?”

“Good girl,” Sam complimented.  She dipped into her wallet, and thrust a five dollar bill over to Halia.  “This is for lunch, then taxi fare.  Can you meet me back at the office, say, around six?”

“Sure thing, chief,” Halia chirped, snatching the money.

“Okay,” Sam nodded curtly.  “Work fast, I need everything you can dig up.”

“You’re not coming?” asked Halia.

“Can’t,” Sam shook her head.  “I need to work my other cases.  But this Thursby Manor thing, that’s our top priority, you get me?”

Halia straightened in her seat and gave a crisp, military salute.  “Count on me, chief!”

“G’wan, get outta here,” Sam chided her, unable to resist another grin.

As Halia bustled across the manicured lawn to the library’s main entrance, Sam realized the cigarette was still between her fingers, unlit.  She stared at the little cigar for a moment, then returned it back into the pack.

* * * * * * *

Sam’s other cases were more demanding than she’d anticipated.  Mr. Manna Patterson had retained her to track down his runaway teenage daughter.  Sam caught up with the girl playing hooky in her twenty-something boyfriend’s apartment, smoking dope and listening to Dylan records.  The female detective was also hired by the _Hele Mālie_ Travel Agency to determine which employee was stealing from the company’s little in-office safe.  Turned out to be the company’s slimy owner.

By four-thirty, Sam’s feet and brain hurt.  She had little time to cross town and meet up with Halia.  But before she could, there was one last task that she required her attention.

There was no time to swing by the _Hotel Hotel Maikaʻi_ Resort in person.  But Sam got lucky, and was able to reach Mackenzie via a pay phone.

“ _What’s up?_ ” Mackenzie asked, clearly surprised that Sam was calling so early in the evening.  “ _You need to cancel on dinner again?_ ”

“Mack, I gotta ask you something,” Sam said, ignoring the question.  “Where were you last night?”

“ _Last night?_ ” echoed her cousin.  “ _What is this-?_ ”

“Its **_important_** ,” Sam insisted.

She could hear Mackenzie roll her eyes.  “ _Well, I performed in the show, then I went to bed early.  I was tired._ ”  The hula dancer had answered quickly and automatically.  As if she hadn’t actually thought about the question.

“Are you **_sure?_** ” Sam said, her voice intense.  “Because I don’t think you were home last night.”

“ _I’m… yeah, I’m sure,_ ” replied Mackenzie, sounding uncertain.

Now Sam was convinced she was right.  “Mack, I need you to come to my office straightaway, get me?”

“ _I have a show at eight PM!_ ”

“You’ll make it,” Sam assured her.  “But you’ve got to come, you get me?  Its really important.”

* * * * * * *

As usual, Halia was waiting for Sam when the detective reached her office.  “Good hunting?” Sam asked, as she unlocked the office door.

Halia immediately began unloading stacks of papers, photocopies from the Honolulu Advertiser and the Honolulu Star-Bulletin.  Sam squinted down at the blotchy black-and-white photographs.  Most depicted a mainlander fellow, tall and barrel-chested.  The man was commonly photographed with his bear-like arms around the shoulders of pretty, young women.  He always had a wide, confident grin.

“ ** _That’s_** Harper Thursby,” Halia explained.  “Yes, he built that big manor house.  He was a shipping tycoon, or something.  Lots of money.  Most of these old stories are from the gossip columns; it seems he did a lot of swinging in the Honolulu nightlife.”

“So this is our man, eh?” Sam mused, picking up a paper and giving Thursby’s photograph a very close inspection.  The man appeared to be in his late thirties.  He possessed barely any hair on his head, but his paunch, meaty body, and rich tan testified to a life of prosperity and indulgence.

Sam skimmed the article:

**_HARPER THURSBY TO BUILD MANSION NEAR WAILUPE_ **

**_January 20, 1954.  By Eban Tabor._ **

**_Local adventurer and shipping millionaire Harper Thursby is putting down roots._ **

**_“I’m selling my yacht,” the young man announced at the Pineapi Gala, amazing his_** **_fellow attendees.  “I’m done on the Pacific; no, its time to build my house.”_ **

**_He then announced construction of a 60,000 sq ft mansion, just off Wailupe Beach._** **_The house is tentatively to be named Thursby Manor, will be maintained by an_ ** **_automatic trust, and looks to be the biggest-_ **

Another article from the gossip pages added to the picture:

**_HEARD ABOUT TOWN:  MILLIONAIRE KICKED OUT OF JET SET SOIREE_ **

**_October 3, 1958.  By Greta Clacker._ **

**_Harper Thursby, Hawaii’s favorite playboy millionaire, was ejected from Packer_** **_Kelekolio’s house party last Friday!  It seems, dear readers, that the famously_ ** **_lady-crazy Mr. Thursby wanted to be a little too cozy with Mr. Kelekolio’s oldest_ ** **_daughter.  So, for the third time this month, Mr. Thursby has been rejected by his_ ** **_peers.  What’s more…_ **

“Yeah,” Sam said, more certain than ever.  “This is our guy.”

“What do you mean?” Halia asked, leafing through more papers.

“I think this is the guy,” Sam pronounced.  “ ** _This_** is the guy who’s responsible for kidnapping me, and then blacking out my memory somehow.”

“Can’t be,” Halia shook her head.

Sam snorted, “Oh no?”

“No,” insisted Halia.  “He’s dead.”

Sam’s confident grin faded.  “What do you mean, he’s **_dead?_** ”

“Dead,” repeated Halia.  She flipped through more papers, then held up a large obituary:

**_HARPER THURSBY, LOCAL ADVENTURER AND SHIPPING MAGNATE, DEAD AT 38_ **

**_June 14, 1959.  By Kalino Kono._ **

**_Harper Thursby, one of Honolulu’s most prominent businessmen and socialites,_** **_was pronounced dead by county officials after a heart attack cut short a party at his_ ** **_manor home.  Mr. Thursby, a Navy veteran from the War with Japan, had built a_ ** **_considerable financial shipping empire, based out of Honolulu.  After being marooned_ ** **_on an island for three years during the Battle of Arawe, Mr. Thursby…_ **

Sam’s jaw dropped.  As she skimmed the article, her theory went up in smoke.  She sat down heavily in her chair, stunned.

“You’re… you’re **_sure?_** ” she said stupidly to Halia.

In response, the teenager unearthed a second article:

**_HARPER THURBY LAID TO REST, PRAISED BY MANY_ **

**_June 16, 1959.  By Kalino Kono._ **

**_H_ _onolulu city officials and social elites alike came out on this warm, summer’s day_** **_to bid farewell to on of the city’s favorite adopted sons, Harper Thursby (1921-1959)._ **

**_He was just so young, so full of vigor,” said Mrs. Saburo Obasi, attending with her_** **_husband.  “And to think he never had a chance to settle down…”_ **

There was a picture of the wake.  Although the photo was little better than an inkblot, Sam could see Thursby’s unmistakable girth and face, resting in the open coffin.

Sam dropped the articles onto her desk, feeling blindsided.

“What?” Halia asked, watching her closely.

The female detective ran fingers through her thick, red hair, a gesture of frustration.  “I was so sure…” she mumbled to herself.

Her eyes fell on the clock.  Mackenzie should have arrived by now.  It was half-past six.

It was almost time.

Suddenly, Sam’s thoughts blurred.  She felt a strange peace seep over her body and mind.  Nothing mattered.  She was happy.  She had a party to go to.

The detective stood, smiling absently.

“What?” Halia said again.

Sam paused, as if noting the teenager for the first time.  Halia had big, gorgeous eyes, perfectly complimenting her doll-like face.  In addition to being very pretty, the girl had an appealing, slender figure, still shaped by her youth and the twilight of puberty.  Sam’s wandering eye appreciated Halia’s round breasts, slender hips, and long legs.  She was beautiful and sexy.

“Are you free this evening, Halia?” Sam asked, reaching into her purse.

“Uh,” the teen replied, “well, I really should be getting home.  I told momma that I was working with you tonight, but she’ll-“

“You should call your mother and tell her you have a party to go to,” Sam said sweetly.

In her purse, there was a small bag made from velvet.  How had Sam not noticed it before?  No matter.  The detective untied the strings.

“A party?” Halia asked, scrunching her nose.  “ ** _What_** party?”

“You’ll love it, sweetheart,” Sam promised, placing a sisterly hand on Halia’s little shoulder.  “But first, I need you to _sleeeeep_ …”

The redheaded detective playfully tossed a handful of glittering sand into the air, just before Halia’s face.  The teen coughed in surprise, and tried to step back.

Sam stepped forward, quickly and gently pressing one hand against the teenage sleuth’s cheek.  The other hand gripped the teen’s arm.  “Halia, honey, its okay,” she purred.  “Look at me, okay?  Look at me.”

Halia’s gaze fogged over, but her brown eyes swiveled up to stare at Sam.

“Very good, Halia,” murmured Sam.  “Now… relax, baby.  You will relax deeply.  So deeply.  Don’t fight it, Halia, relax and let go.  Let go…”

Suddenly a stream of words appeared on Sam’s lips, flowing from her with confidence and seductive force.  Where this dialog was coming from, Sam had no idea.  But she did nothing to stop the continuous instruction.

As Sam spoke, Halia’s body relaxed and her thoughts dissolved.  The teen was helpless as Sam poured command after command into her mind.  Soon Halia’s eyes closed.  She was asleep, yet entirely focused on Sam’s every word.

“Wonderful, Halia, wonderful,” Sam sighed happily.  “You will now follow and obey all of my instructions.  You have no desire of your own, except of what I give you.  It feels so good to follow and obey.  Every time I or one of my sisters cup your cheek just like this, you will find that your mind returns to sleep and you must obey.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Halia mumbled, her voice faint.

“Very good, my dear,” complimented Sam.  The detective’s own mind was becoming focused, and she was beginning to forget who she was.  She had a party to go to.  “Now listen very carefully…”

* * * * * * *

The party was in full swing by the time Sam and Halia changed into their bikinis.

“Oh my God!” Halia squealed when she saw that the water gun battle was just getting underway.  A dozen bikini-clad women were racing across the lawn, blasting one another, and shrieking with laughter.  Generous bosoms and legs dripped with water.  No-one seemed to know what teams were in play… and absolutely no-one cared.

“I gotta get in on that!” declared Halia, bouncing up and down.  Her chest nearly escaped out of her bikini top.

“Whoa, girl,” Sam giggled.  “The night is young.  Why don’t we-“

“Sam!  Over here!”

Mackenzie bounded up, barely crammed into a tiny, chocolate-colored swimsuit.  The girl’s svelte body looked almost nude in the soft torchlight.

“Mack!” Sam exclaimed in glee.  The cousins hugged.  Halia was introduced.

“I can’t decide,” pouted Sam.  “Should Halia and I complete in the singing contest?  Or maybe get in on Marco Polo in the pool?”

“Oh, I did Marco Polo,” Mackenzie said, tossing her hair.  “You get groped a lot.”  She laughed, then playfully sighed at the memory.  “No, you guys should come with me.”

“Where?” Halia giggled.

“Hula hoop dance competition,” Mackenzie grinned, swiveling her hips in demonstration.  “Gotta warn you, though; I’m a ringer.”

* * * * * * *


	5. It’s Kind of Diabolically Brilliant

Sam lurched awake.  She sat up in bed, pushing her red hair out of her face.  Once again, she was naked, once again, her body was lightly covered in a fine, white pollen, and once again, she had only the faintest recollection of the previous night.

“ ** _Goddamnit!_** ” the detective exclaimed aloud.

Before she showered off, Sam inspected herself closely in the mirror.  Her skin was pollen-coated, except…

Except for the tan lines where a brassiere should have been.

 _Well,_ Sam thought sourly, _at least I was in underwear last night._

No, not underwear.  An inspection of her hips showed the outline of a bikini bottom, not Sam’s usual, ordinary panties.

 _I was in a bikini…_ Sam mused to herself, fitting that clue into the bigger picture.

Then she plunged into the shower.  It was going to be an eventful day.

* * * * * * *

For once, Halia was not at the office door when Sam arrived.  The detective moved to her desk, glancing at the clock.  Quarter past nine AM.  She placed quick calls to both Mackenzie and Halia’s residences.

“How soon can you get to my office?” she asked of them both.

* * * * * * *

But when someone knocked on the doorframe, it was not Sam’s cousin, nor her teenage assistant.  The detective sat upright in surprise as a tall, willowy native woman entered her office.

“You’re Sam Smith?” the young woman asked hesitantly.  “The Girl Detective?”

The stranger was Noelani Iona, the former mistress of Theodore Harrison!  Sam’s jaw nearly dropped.

“Come in,” she managed.

Noelani was lovely in person.  Tall, thin, with elegant cheekbones, soft brown eyes, and faint red lips, she was a classic Hawai’ian beauty.

Sam stared.  But there was something else…  Something…  A faded memory nagged at her.

Noelani and the detective sat in opposite chairs.  Normally, Sam would pull out her casebook before a conversation.  But this interview seemed very different, somehow.

“I have a mystery,” Noelani said tentatively, a woman’s handkerchief twisting in her fingers.  “I think.  I know it sounds funny-“

“But you have this feeling that you’ve been **_somewhere_** , somewhere you can’t remember,” Sam interrupted.

“Yes,” Noelani said, impressed.  “How did you…?”

Sam jumped up, gently taking the native girl’s forearm.  There were traces of the white pollen on Noelani’s dark skin.

“Ugh,” Noelani grunted.  “I thought I’d washed all of that off.”

“Let me guess,” Sam drawled.  “The instant you awoke, you had an absolutely **_irresistible_** compulsion to jump into the shower and scrub it all off?”

Noelani’s eyes grew wide.

“You and me,” Sam said grimly, “we were at the same party last night.”  Now she knew why Noelani’s presence felt so familiar.

* * * * * * *

Within an hour, Mackenzie and Halia had arrived.  Sam sat her three guests in her office chairs, then paced before them, in front of her desk.

The detective eyed all three women.  “Let me guess,” she drawled.  “You all felt tired and went straight to bed early last night, correct?  Perhaps around ten o’clock?”

Mackenzie, Halia, and Noelani nodded.

“And you woke, then immediately got into the shower, correct?”

More nods.

“Think carefully,” Sam said pointedly.  “Are you **_sure_** you were home, in bed?”

This time the nods were slower, less certain.

The detective waggled a finger.  “No.  None of us here were.  We four were all at Thursby Manor, partying the night away.  Like silly schoolgirls.”

“No,” Mackenzie said plainly but firmly.  “I went to bed, right after my show.  I remember.”

“I called your chaperone, Mack,” Sam countered.  “She said you left _Hotel Hotel Maikaʻi_ around seven.  And you weren’t home until after midnight.”

“But… I **_remember_** the show,” Mackenzie insisted.

“Show me your arm,” said Sam.  A quick comparison revealed that both women still had residue of the white pollen on their skin.

“I’ve been all over the island of Oʻahu,” Sam pronounced firmly.  “This white pollen – whatever it is – I’ve only found at one location:  Thursby Manor.  We were both there last night, Mack.”  She glanced meaningfully at Halia and Noelani.  “We all were.”

“So why don’t we remember that?” Halia asked plainly.

Sam leaned against her desk, folding her arms.  “Because we’ve been hypnotized.”

“What?  No,” Mackenzie said immediately.

“I wasn’t convinced immediately, either,” Sam admitted.  “But consider…  Each of us woke up with this definite conviction that we spent the evening at home, right?  And yet, we can’t remember anything specific about last night.”

“I can,” pouted Mackenzie defensively.

“What did you have for dinner last night?” Sam fired back.  “Who was the last person you talked to?  Did you read a book or magazine before falling asleep?  If so, what did you read?”

Sam’s cousin opened her mouth to reply… but no words came out.

“You see?” the detective observed.  “We have the belief that we spent the night at home… but we can recall no specific details about last night.”

“Another clue,” Sam continued, and picked up the pack of cigarettes from her desk.  “Until yesterday, I was a serious smoker.  And then…”  She looked at the pack, then shrugged.  “…since I woke up yesterday, I haven’t wanted a smoke.  Not even one drag.  Nada.  Why would I suddenly give up a bad habit I’ve fostered since grade school?”

The other women didn’t reply.

“I’ve been hypnotized,” Sam said plainly, shaking her head and still eyeing the cigarettes.  Without a shrug, she tossed the pack into her wastepaper basket.  “Somehow, somewhere, I was hypnotized and compelled to go to Thursby Manor.  While I was there, I apparently put of a bikini, spent the whole time outdoors under those damned pollen trees, then went home with instructions to forget everything.”

Noelani looked stunned.  “I had this dream last night,” she said, her voice wavering.  “I was at this wonderful party, with many other girls.  We put on swimsuits and-“

“And frolicked the night away?” Sam finished.  “Yeah.  We were all there.”

Mackenzie scowled, apparently insulted.  “That’s ridiculous.  I can’t be hypnotized.  I **_can’t_**.”

Sam cocked her head to one side.  “Let me try something,” she proposed.

The detective moved to stand directly before Halia.  “Sorry ‘bout this, but I need to prove a point,” she murmured.

The teenager looked mildly concerned.  “…what?” she asked.

Sam leaned forward, snapping her fingers loudly.  “Sleep, Halia!” she barked.

Halia leaned back, wide awake.  She looked quizzical.

“Sleep!” commanded Sam.

Still nothing.  Noelani and Mackenzie exchanged pained looks.

Sam frowned.  Somehow, she knew this would work.  But what…?

The detective’s memory flashed back to Thursby’s billiards room, and to the black-and-white photo of Dr. Heinrich Brecht hypnotizing a teenager.  _Of course,_ she thought.

Imitating the photo exactly, Sam gently put one hand on the teenager’s cheek.  “Halia, _sleeeeep_ …” she whispered in a loving voice.

Immediately, Halia’s eyes glazed over.  The teenager’s arms went limp and she collapsed forward in her chair, a rag doll.  Her eyelids closed.  Sam lowered her torso onto her legs.

“Oh my God,” said Noelani in alarm.

Sam had once witnessed a hypnotism demonstration in high school.  Thinking back to that now, she leaned over Halia’s slumbering body.

“Halia, when I snap my fingers, you will awaken,” the detective said conversationally.  “You will be completely convinced that I am the actress Elizabeth Taylor.  Awaken now!”  She snapped her fingers again, rapidly.

Halia roused, sitting up and blinking.  She did a wide-mouthed double-take the instant she looked up at Sam.

“Ohhhh…!” the teenager breathed, a hand covering her heart.  “Oh, Miss Taylor…!”

“There, you see?” Sam said to the others.

“Oh, I’ve seen all your movies,” Halia gaped, reaching for Sam’s hand.  “You… you should do a movie with that Sean Connery!”

“Do you want me to demonstrate on you?” Sam asked, leaning over Mackenzie.

The hula dancer shrank back.  “No, no!  Jesus…”

“We’ve all been hypnotized,” Sam said firmly, returning to lean against her desk.  She gestured at the starstruck Halia.  “Just like this.”

“Wow…” Halia beamed, her face glowing.  “You’re soooo beautiful in person…”

“ _Kâhâhâ!_ ” said Noelani, who looked fairly worried.  “Who hypnotized us?  And why?!?”

“I had a hard time with that question,” Sam admitted.  “I’m not totally sure, but I think we may have hypnotized each other.”

“What?” frowned Mackenzie.

“So Halia did a bunch of research at the library,” Sam said, picking up a pile of newspaper photocopies.  “See?  Thursby Manor was built by Harper Thursby, about ten years back.  You remember that name?”

“Harper Thursby,” Noelani said absently.  “I kind of remember that name when I was a little girl.  He donated money to my school carnival, I think.”

“He was a man about town,” Sam agreed, passing out the articles.  “Near as I can figure, he struck it rich and lived large.  All these articles talk about how he loved to splash money about.  But what I noticed,” Sam added dryly, “is that he’s always photographed with pretty young women.  Always.”

“Yeah,” Mackenzie agreed, leafing through the papers.

“One of his obituaries talks about how Thursby was in the Navy when we were fighting Japan,” Sam went on.  “His destroyer was sunk, and Thursby was marooned on an island.  Then, around 1947, he’s rescued by chance.  He returns to Hawai’i, starts a shipping business.  Makes a fortune.  But every year, he takes his private schooner to wander around the South Pacific for a month or so.”

The detective paused, making eye contact with Mackenzie and Noelani.  “Then, in 1954, Thursby abruptly sells the schooner.  Builds a big ol’ mansion outside of town.  One of the profile articles talked about how he imported hybrid trees, trees he found on his island adventures.  That’s why we’re covered in pollen when we come back from his house.”

“Okay,” said Mackenzie, not very patiently.

“I think,” Sam mused, “that while marooned, Thursby found… something.  I’m not sure what, but something, some substance, some medicine, something that dramatically lowers a person’s ability to resist hypnosis.  Once he got off the island and became a millionaire, Thursby decided he wanted to hypnotize young women.  Like us.  So he spent years searching for his former island home.  When he found it, he packed up barrels of the mysterious stuff and smuggled it all back to Hawai’i.  He built Harper Manor for the sole purpose of hosting wild parties there.  And then he started hypnotizing young women to attend those parties.”  She snorted.  “Seems Thursby had a serious thing for bikinis.”

Halia had been listening to none of this.  “Can I…  Can I have your autograph?” she implored Sam.

Noelani rubbed her chin in thought.  “I don’t know…” she muttered.  “That’s fantastic.”

“It is,” Sam agreed, ignoring poor Halia.  “But have you seen Thursby Manor?  Its an adult playground.  Nothing in that house hasn’t been placed there unless it contributes to the pursuit of pleasure.”

“Whoa, whoa,” scowled Mackenzie.  She held up an obituary.  “It says here Harper Thursby died-“

“Died four years ago, yes,” Sam acknowledged.

“So you’re saying we’ve been hypnotized by a dead man,” accused the hula dancer.

“Sort of,” replied Sam.  “But not really.”  She hopped up to sit on her desk.  “There’s a few articles about how Thursby was such a skirt chaser, Honolulu society started to shun him, especially towards the end of his life.  Whatever his magical mystery substance was, he didn’t dare use it in public.  So you know what he did?”

Mackenzie arched one eyebrow.

“He hypnotized his women to recruit their gal pals,” supplied Sam.  “He gave them instructions on how to use his magic substance and then the words to use to put them under a spell.  And the women mesmerized their friends, who mesmerized **_their_** friends… and so on.

“It’s kind of diabolically brilliant, if you think about it,” Sam grudgingly admitted.  “Once he started his little hypnosis club, all Thursby had to do was sit up in his big house and wait for the next scheduled party.  The girls would come to him.  And do whatever he wanted.”

Halia sighed happily, still beaming up at Sam with stars in her eyes.

“Thursby must have been a real lazy guy,” the redheaded detective speculated.  “It said in one of those articles that he set up an irrevocable trust for the care and maintenance of his home.  That trust is still working, still in operation.  When Halia and I visited the house yesterday, there were cleaning crews scrubbing the place down, getting it ready for the next party.  The taxes are even paid out on schedule.  Only no-one’s home.”

“The whole thing’s sick,” Noelani said, disgusted.

“Getting back to Thursby,” continued Sam.  “The guy was in his mid-thirties, but in poor health.  He ate like a hog and never exercised.  And he dies of a heart attack in 1959.  But his hypnotized women are still out there, and still compelled to assemble at the manor for parties.  Its been going on for almost four years now.”

“I don’t believe it,” Mackenzie said stubbornly.  Sam could tell her cousin was terrified at the story unraveling here.

“How else do you explain Halia?” Sam asked gently.  She gestured to the bedazzled teenager.

“Oh, Miss Taylor,” whispered the girl, “I just think you’re… you’re so nifty!  You’re my fave!”

“Halia is only seventeen,” Sam said patiently.  “Thursby wouldn’t have looked at her at the time of his death.  Yet somehow, Halia was mesmerized and compelled to go to Thursby Manor last night.  Question:  Who hypnotized her?”

Mackenzie didn’t reply.

“Answer,” finished Sam.  “I did.  I’ve been to the parties at least twice.  After my first party, I must have brought back some of Thursby’s magic hypnosis stuff.  And when I was triggered, I used it on poor Halia here.  Then both Halia and I went to last night’s party, and were programmed to forget the whole thing in the morning.”

The tiniest of sparkles caught Sam’s eye, down on the threadbare carpet.

“Aha,” proclaimed the detective.  She hopped off her desk, then knelt, gingerly scooping up little bits of a glittering substance from the rug.

“You see?” she said, offering her palm for Mackenzie and Noelani to inspect.  “Thursby’s pixie dust, no doubt.”

“I hope your next movie is a **_musical!_** ” Halia told Sam wondrously.

The other three ignored her.  “ _Pupule!_ ” Noelani swore.  The beautiful girl slouched in her chair, worry lines creasing her face.

“So…” Mackenzie fretted, “what do we do now?”

Sam sighed heavily.  “That I don’t know,” she admitted.  Carefully, she brushed the twinkling sand into an envelope.  “Maybe I can get the university people to analyze this?  That might help.”

“They’ll think you’re crazy,” scowled Mackenzie.  “Heck, I think you’re crazy, Sam.”

“Waitaminute,” Noelani interjected.  “If all you say is true…  and Thursby’s parties have been going on for **_years_** … then why aren’t all of Hawai’i’s women up at the house by now?”

Sam frowned, considering.  “I wondered about that.  Thursby was a clever guy.  He wanted to mesmerize the most beautiful women on the island, but he didn’t want to get caught.  So his programming must include something that releases girls from his spell after a time.  Every week, new women are hypnotized while other party-goers are released.  And no-one remembers a thing.”

The four women were silent for a moment.

“So if you’re right…” Noelani said slowly.

“Then the worst is, we four will be sucked into a few more parties,” finished the detective with a glum expression.  “And then our memories will be erased again.  Hell, we may not even remember this conversation.”

“Can’t we… I don’t know, get dehypnotized somehow?” Mackenzie asked.

Sam nodded thoughtfully.  “That’s a good idea.  When I first came to the island, I visited a hypnotherapist for my smoking habit.  Didn’t take.  But I liked the woman; maybe she can help us.”

“I hope so,” Noelani said, worrying again.

“Its worth a shot,” pronounced Sam, already reaching for her telephone.

But before she could dial, Halia leapt up, grabbing Sam’s hand.  “Oh Miss Taylor,” she said, love in her eyes, “don’t you worry about these other two ladies.  They may not recognize you, but I am your **_biggest fan_**.”  She sighed happily.

* * * * * * *

Sam booked a multisession appointment with Luann Kameāloha, the professional hypnotist that Sam had visited years before.  Although she was incredulous at their tale, Luann agreed to treat Sam, Mackenzie, Halia, and Noelani all at the same time.  The four women spent a few hours in a deep trance, willing Ms. Kameāloha to undo all of Thursby’s dirty work.

* * * * * * *

After, the four women unanimously decided to remain together at least until midnight, if only to keep a sharp eye on one another.  Sam wanted to bring in an outside friend, someone who could watch for signs of hypnosis.  But the other three overruled her.

“This is so embarrassing already,” groaned Mackenzie.  “I don’t want anyone other than us to know about our… condition.”

“Besides,” Halia cheerfully supplied, “if one of us trances out, the others will spot it.  Right?”

So all four women piled into Sam’s living room.  Sam’s television set was on the fritz, but it turned out that Noelani was an expert poker player.

“I had ambitions of being a dealer in Vegas,” she confessed.  “That’s why I was dating Theodore Harrison.  He told me he was a casino owner, and that I have potential.”  Her smile faded.  “I guess that’s why I should never listen to men, huh?”

“Theodore Harrison and Harper Thursby,” Sam remarked.  “Two men with the same initials who both wanted to trick you into being their girlfriend.”

“Yeah, funny,” said Noelani, not looking amused in the slightest.

“Oh you guys,” Halia clucked her tongue.  “Honestly, now.  What is so terrible?”

The other three women stared at her.

“Okay, so we’ve been, you know, brainwashed.  A little,” Halia allowed.  “But so what?  Its not like we were commanded to shoot the president or perform gross sex acts or anything like that.  We went into a trance, and then we got invited to the world’s most awesome party!  I ask you, where’s the harm?”

Sam, Mackenzie, and Noelani were momentarily speechless.

“Do you know,” Halia lectured, sloppily shuffling the cards, “how many grown-ups I know who are desperately in need of a really, really good party?”

“Yes, but…” Sam objected.

Halia smiled.

“…well…” fumbled Sam.

“I’m just saying,” Halia remarked, placing the deck on the table for Mackenzie to cut, “that if we have to be hypnotized into doing anything, I’m kinda glad it to do something I’ve always wanted to enjoy.”

No-one could argue with that.

* * * * * * *

Three hands later, Sam was about to throw back a four and a six.  Mackenzie, who was a terrible bluffer, was repeatedly glancing at her cards and biting her lip.  The time was ripe to take her to the cleaners.

Sam plucked her discards, when a strange feeling swept over her.

“You guys,” she grinned absently.  “I’m sorry.  I have a party to go to.”

The other three looked at her in alarm.

Sam dropped her cards and stood.  “Don’t you ladies have to come along too?”

One-by-one, Mackenzie, Halia, and Noelani’s expressions changed from concerned to blissful and smiley.  “Yeah,” Mackenzie murmured.  “I have a party to go to.”  She beamed.

Without another word, the women left the apartment, climbed into Sam’s BMW and headed west.

* * * * * * *

An hour later, Sam couldn’t remember anything but the desire to celebrate.  There was not a concern in her mind, and the world seemed happy and at peace.

“Oh my God, you guys!” she screamed in delight.  “We’re gonna have so much fun!”

“Go!” a tall blonde in another bikini shouted out.

And with that, the potato sack race was on.  Sam hopped like a woman possessed, careless and indifferent to how her breasts flopped and bounced in her tight little bikini.  Beside her, Mackenzie, Halia, and Noelani struggled to keep up, laughing hysterically all the way.  The other bikini’ed women leapt up and down, cheering.

Sam barreled across the makeshift finish line, just below the stone patio.  “I won, I won, I won!  Oh yeah, oh yeah!” she squealed in joy, and triumphantly danced with boundless energy.

“You must have cheated!” sang Halia, but the accusation was not serious.  The teenager’s face was flush with the thrill of competition.

“Well, try and beat me at the next… next… next thing,” Sam teased back.  For some reason, it was hard to think of the right words.  Her mind was a whirl of giggles and ideas for play.

“Com’on, com’on,” laughed Noelani, grabbing both Sam and Halia by the hands.  “The other girls, they’re starting the conga line!”

And Sam happily allowed herself be propelled into the next madcap adventure.  For the moment, the world was spilling over with too much joy.  She was having so much fun.

* * * * * * *


End file.
